


You'll See Me Standing in the Sunlight

by desperately_human



Category: Dublin Murder Squad Series - Tana French
Genre: Scorcher Kennedy POV, and hardly angsty at all, conversations over brunch, the Laura is now a happy single mom story, this is just short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperately_human/pseuds/desperately_human
Summary: “No,” Laura said, reading my mind like she always could when she tried, “you’re getting the wrong idea. She’s,” Laura lifted the phone, passed it across the table to show me a photo of a grinning toddler, smiling through popsicle-sticky lips, one hand tucked in the pocket of blue overalls, “she’s my daughter.”
Relationships: Mick "Scorcher" Kennedy/ Laura Kennedy (past)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3





	You'll See Me Standing in the Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts).



> Ashling and I had a conversation at 1am and I thought there needed to be a proper record of this story. Some of these lines might be hers and not mine.  
> Laura works in publishing because she's tougher than us.  
> Scorcher sounds a little sad here but he's doing okay this is a future where everything is pretty okay.

The restaurant where Laura had asked to meet suited her perfectly, one of those trendy brunch places where they served egg-white omelets with farm-fresh mushrooms and tiny cups of strong, dark expresso. When she left, Laura had left the espresso machine in our house, a kind of token goodwill gesture. It was one of the few sentimental objects I had taken with me when I moved to the flat—useless, I can drink pour-over coffee by the gallon but the strong stuff Laura loves makes my hands shake, but sometimes when I saw the machine sitting on my counter I could still picture her, barely awake, head bent over the complex array of buttons, humming something quiet to herself.

I froze for a moment in the doorway, before she could see me. She looked so...content. Flourishing. Not that she would have ever allowed herself to go out looking anything less than polished—I remember thinking, when we finally signed the divorce papers, that I would never again get to see her dissolve into sobs, or fling a dry pen against the wall, and the wave of dizzying loss that had hit me at that realization. But there was something about her manner, the way she held herself, her small smile as she looked don at her phone. She was radiant, glowing with some inner light, and I couldn’t quite let go of the feeling that by stepping into that room, sitting down at her table, letting the rough and jagged edges of my life brush up against hers, I would somehow dim that spark. Then she looked up, caught my eye and broke into a genuine smile, and the moment was gone.

We had met up a few times since our divorce, and I knew for a fact she still talked to Geri every month, but it had been a long time since Laura and I sat down to properly talk like this. She had something she wanted to tell me, that much had been clear from the pone call, and after we had dispensed with the ordering of food and drinks, and ten minutes or so of obligatory small-talk, she got to it. I always appreciated her efficiency. She took a breath, seemed to struggle for words for a moment, gripping her light, new-model phone tightly in one hand.

“I need to tell you,” she started, shook her head, began again, “I _wanted_ to tell you. That I, well, I have someone. In my life.”

“Alright” I nodded, aiming for supportive but possibly landing closer to confused. Laura knew very well she didn’t need to ask my permission about these things, and honestly I had assumed she had been seeing other people for years. We had led separate lives for quite a while. Perhaps this was a serious relationship, I thought, plans for a wedding or—

“No,” Laura said, reading my mind like she always could when she tried, “you’re getting the wrong idea. She’s,” Laura lifted the phone, passed it across the table to show me a photo of a grinning toddler, smiling through popsicle-sticky lips, one hand tucked in the pocket of blue overalls, “she’s my daughter.”

“Oh.” I may have frozen for a moment, trying to match the child’s age with the timeline of what I knew of Laura’s life. “she’s…” what did one say about children? “She’s lovely.”

“She is,” Laura agreed, pride and love radiating off her. “The adoption just went through, but I’ve been fostering her for eight months. Her name’s Lena. I would love it if you came over and met her sometime.”

“Yes,” I answered too quickly, her fingers were so small, so incredibly breakable. “Does she,” I cleared my throat, trying to get a handle on how much of Laura’s life I needed to catch up on, “ …her father?”

“She doesn’t have a dad,” Laura straightened slightly in her chair, a defiant tilt to her chin, “just me.” _We’re too good for them, anyway_ Frank Mackey had said to me once, back when things were different, the day we had run into each other outside Dublin Castle and he had learned we were both divorced and insisted on buying me a large scotch in a sort of congratulatory commiseration. I don’t know if Frank had meant it then, if Frank ever meant anything he said, but is wasn’t true. I knew that then as brightly and vividly as I know it now—Laura was the best of the best, always had been. I feared for little Lena, in the universal way I fear for all children—fragile and malleable and unsure when to speak up—but I knew no child of Laura’s would grow up wanting. Still, this wasn’t how she had described her dream me.

“I thought you wanted, you know…” what women are supposed to want, I almost said.

“Husband, white picket fence, two point five kids playing in the backyard?” Laura laughed, a laugh with a tinge of sadness to it, “so did I. But, I wanted _this_ more...I went to so many dates after the divorce, but finally realized that I wasn’t looking for a surname to clip onto mine, a second income, and extra pair of hands. I wanted a partner, and there wasn’t anyone. But I wanted to be a mother, still. So...I did it on my own”

“And, your work?” Laura had worked in publishing for as long as I had known her, slowing climbing the ladder in a difficult industry. I had always imagined she would quit work once she had a baby, devote herself full-time to mothering, but perhaps in some ways, I had never fully understood her.

“I work from home,” she confirmed. “I cut back on the hours a little, but these days it’s mostly reading manuscripts and sweet-talking agents on the phone. Lena plays with her fuzzy dinosaurs and stays quite like an angel whenever I have an important call.” She paused for a moment, then added, “no backyard. We just have a little flat.”

“Cats do well in flats,” I said the first thing that came into my head, and immediately regretted it. I hadn’t meant to compare her child to a house pet. Laura just laughed, genuinely, freely amused.

“The cat in the flat,” she repeated, grinning at me, “you should write a book. I’ll even represent you.” She picked up the phone again, and, with a face that pretended to be abashed but was really nothing more than proud, offered to show me more pictures.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “I am Easy to Find” by The National


End file.
